‘Trembling and giving up to the darkness
The Lagerstrasse lacks the signs we need to find our way
Under our fingernails the ash of the dead
Don’t breathe in, don’t breathe out.

Falling but held up by fear
Pin fake medals on my failing body
I’m not waving I’m drowning
I’m not slimming I’m wilting

No laughter in block five
Hold each other close but don’t feel anything
Don’t take a shower, it’s all over
Don’t trust another, don’t take your glasses off.

It’s the day the clown cried
It’s the end of everything
It’s not giving up or giving in
It’s seeing things as they are, too much death too much death.

Another child taken through to the other world
A parent shivers as the smoke goes up
Another head falls as the bravery cuts through
A mute heart sighs as it says goodbye

Dying but kept here by life
Show me magic or just show me death
I’m not living I’m just dying
I’m not ready I’m not ready

Much horror in Block Eight
Scratch the walls try to escape
Don’t remember dignity
A scramble to die first with something left

It’s the day the clown cried
It’s the end of everything
It’s not giving up or giving in
It’s seeing things as they are, too much death too much death.

My face looks up at the nozzle
I wait for the water, wait for the purity
Suddenly the air smells of death
And it’s all through, it’s all through.

Who’s opening the doors?
Who’s opening the doors?
Who’s opening the doors?
I’m free through work.
Through death.’